


You Should Listen

by ScarlettArbuckle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 06:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettArbuckle/pseuds/ScarlettArbuckle
Summary: Ignis never enjoys Noct's point warping. Especially when he's doing it just to push his buttons.





	You Should Listen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysteriousbean5](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mysteriousbean5).



> A gift for the Ignoct White Day gift exchange for mysteriousbean5! Could be read as pre-established, pre-slash, or gen, give or take the last line of the story.
> 
> I'm so sorry this is late! Thank you for your patience, I hope this is remotely close to something you'd enjoy!!

Generally speaking, Ignis forever regretted the day that Gladio had decided to add ‘point warping’ to Noctis’ repertoire of fighting moves. When Noctis first began to train, it had been a rather novel concept, a more unique technique in his arsenal as he was, after his accident as a child, generally not as adept at phasing as previous royals had been. ‘It’s a great technique, it’s good to have an escape route, somewhere to get out of the line of battle and recover a bit. Assess the situation.’ Gladio had once insisted.

Of course, Gladio also apparently saw little issue with Noctis burying his sword into the stone columns and walls of the citadel and hanging sometimes dozens of feet above the tiled ground. It would seem that the shield of the future king saw little risk of a fit young teenager falling and breaking his neck, among other things.

“Specs, chill out - it’s not that high!” Noctis had once crowed from the training room, cocking an eyebrow and suddenly letting go of his sword with a smirk, waiting until Ignis had shot forward with a startled gasp, then immediately warping back to Gladio’s side, breaking into proud laughter at his newfound level of control. Quite at Ignis’ expense, of course, as he was forced to hastily readjust his glasses and ruffled clothing, plotting what measures of punishment he could employ that would sufficiently convey his disappointment. 

From there, perhaps if he let the issue lie then Noctis would have lost interest in the technique - but it was almost as if any time Ignis ‘nagged’ him about it, he would pointedly incorporate it into the next fight, as a point of contention. It wasn’t the first time Noctis had devolved into bratty, immature ‘lashing out’, but it was a habit Ignis always hoped would fade with time.

And it did, for a time. For at least two years, Ignis need only give a warning look and his prince would roll his eyes but try and avoid the showier forms, at least when in his advisor’s line of sight, in respect for Ignis’ stress level if nothing else. Gladio, of course, reported that he still did it from time to time, but was brief and safe about it - though occasionally he’d throw in a similar move during sparring matches with Prompto, just to make the gunslinger squirm and lose focus.

Quite a bit about his prince’s behavior changed, after Galdin Quay. The outlook of the trip, before, was already more than enough to put the prince in a sour mood, although the presence of his closest friends with him helped alleviate the stress of being a diplomatic envoy into what, very possibly, was an Imperial trap. There was the giddy excitement of seeing Lunafreya again, combined with the no doubt confusing feelings of an emotionally constipated twenty-year-old seeing someone he loved dearly as a soon-to-be spouse - Ignis wasn’t sure such an image had ever settled in Noctis’ mind, to be honest.

And then it all fell apart, that one fateful morning. His hope had been that after meeting with the Marshal and being given the task of collecting the Royal Arms Noctis would be able to pull himself somewhat together and focus on what he - what they - needed to do.

Yet, a certain period of mourning was to be expected and Ignis was loathe to interfere with whatever method Noctis used to cope with his grief. Weeks passed, and the pain and loss seemed to settle, put partly to rest with the defeat of the marilith and the distraction of hunts, camping in the wilds at havens, and their brief foray into ‘busting bases’. Noctis smiled again and seemed generally happier after ‘bringing the fight to the empire’, and Ignis thought the brief stint of rebellion seen in his questioning of the marshal had been finished.

And it had - to a point. The outward questioning of his role as king of an occupied city and general unhappiness with the lack of explanation from his father settled - and, instead, bad habits resurfaced. 

Case in point. “Are you really wanting to retred this topic, your highness?” Ignis called up to Noctis, shoving a magitech back with a swipe of his polearm. His monarch was dangling precariously from the metal frame of a water tower, ignoring his advisor in favor of sweeping his eyes over their enemies, at least until picking the best one to warp strike. His body disappeared into a shower of blue, shimmering sparks, and reappeared as a streak, daggers burying into the fragile wiring of an MT’s neck. It shuddered sickeningly and went down, hard - with Noctis rolling to his feet after it, unharmed and giving a somewhat over peppy hop - and in case Ignis doubted he was mocking him, he turned with a spin to face him and flashed a smile, raising his hands in a ‘ta dah!’ motion. 

Ignis scoffed, shaking his head and taking his attention from his bratty prince in favor of fighting his own foe - which was more tedious than truly difficult, at this point. They’d gotten used to fighting the intimidating magitech troopers in the past weeks, but it was never a good idea to underestimate your enemy. They were especially threatening when attacking in the midst of a hunt, as they had this time.

Skidding back and away from his adversary, Ignis switched to daggers himself and threw the first, summoning it back into his hand, with the power of the armiger’s magic, with a flick of his wrist. He continued much in the same vein, darting through the battlefield, slashing and stabbing, flicking his gaze around until he could confirm Noct was safe where he was fighting, then turning his attention to the next foe. 

He didn’t know what exactly had happened; unfortunately, his attention wasn’t fully on his prince in that given moment. He heard the sound of screeching metal, as Noct’s sword buried into the scaffolding of the water tower once again - then a sickening clatter and the startled yelp that told him something had gone very, very wrong. Ignis turned towards Noctis just in time to see him land, crumpling into a graceless tumble and standing without a trace of the aplomb he’d had before. He stumbled upright, grimacing and casting a sharp look at Ignis with a hasty thumbs up, and it’s enough to reassure him he hasn’t somehow brained himself.

The fight wrapped up minutes later. “Oh geez-- I’m gonna-- yup, gonna faint.” Prompto wheezed, propping his hands against his knees as he caught his breath, chuckling weakly as Gladio snorted and clapped him, roughly, on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, blondie. Hold it ‘til we get to a haven though, would ya?”

Ignis was silent. He dispelled his daggers and strode quickly to where Noct stood with his arms crossed. The prince looked up as he moved, then turned his eyes away, shifting to stand on one leg, the other slightly bent and propped up against his other ankle. “You fell rather hard, Noctis. Are you alright?” Ignis asked slowly, raising his eyebrow somewhat expectantly.

Noctis bristled, grumbling something inaudibly under his breath. Finally, though, at seeing his advisor unmoved and unimpressed, the prince sighed and leaned back against the metal of the tower he’d used for warping, wincing as he dragged up the baggy hem of his pant leg. “Twisted my ankle or something. I can walk on it, just - stings like hell.”

“Mmhm.” Ignis hummed softly, shifting down to his knees so he could get a proper look. There was no immediate bruising… but what he could see did look a bit swollen. “I can’t tell more without removing the boot. With an injury like this, I’d normally recommend returning to an outpost, for proper rest, but...”

“That’s not really money we have to spend, is it?” Noctis pointed out with a wince.

Yes, Ignis could squeeze the budget to allow for a few nights, but then they’d have to head out on more hunts to make up the difference. Ignis adjusted his glasses, thinking, then sighed and turned, remaining knelt down, “Come on then. Let us get you to a haven.”

“Huh?!” Noct grunted in confusion, and when Ignis glanced back at him he was blushing bright red, staring down at him with his jaw set. “Wh-- specs, c’mon, I can walk, you don’t have to carry--”

“If you want me to respect your judgment on the techniques you use during a fight, then I ask you to respect mine in how I treat you afterward.” The advisor pointed out with a slow smile.

Noct groaned softly, slowly clambering onto Ignis’ back, arms shifting to hold around his shoulders as the older man stood straight. “If this means you won’t say ‘I told you so’, then you’ve got a deal.”

“You’re not in a position to make demands, but - I’ll allow it.” Ignis responded with a soft laugh. As they rejoined the others, Gladio smirked broadly, then fell into step with them, laughing at the petulant glare Noct send his way. “Fine fine, not saying a damn thing.” Prompto bounded ahead of them a few paces, turning to face them as he walked backwards. “Does this mean no more hunts for a while? I gotta say, I’m bushed after the last few fights-”

“Ugggh, shut up!” Noctis huffed out a warm breath against Ignis’ ear. And, if his prince leaned his face into his hair as he walked, who was Ignis to call him out on it?


End file.
